"Well, don't forget there's something more than three stones to look for," Way answered. "If you find anything that looks interesting, sing out. I'll do the same."

It was a valley of romantic interest the two boys were exploring. Here the creek foamed and bubbled into "suds" over and around obstructing rocks or driftwood. Again it rested in deep, narrow pools. Beyond, in gentle ripples the water gained speed again to go tumbling on and on in miniature falls of a thousand different shapes and sizes, where its course was rough and broken.

Years and years ago the Indian knew this valley and its adjacent wooded hills and low plateaus as a favored hunting place. Later white hunters and trappers here sought and found wild game,--the deer, the bear, the panther, the wolf, and even the beaver.

Pioneer settlers followed in their turn. For the latter, however, the country was too broken by rocky ledges and hills. The more level and fertile lands offered greater attractions for their husbandry, so they carried their work of clearing, ploughing and planting elsewhere.

For years after the country all about had been quite opened up, wild game continued to be found in the rough region now known as the Ship woods. It continued thus to be a hunting place. Men traveled many miles to try their skill as sportsmen there, finding pigeons, wild turkeys and smaller game for a great while after the last deer and the last bear were gone.

At noon Phil and Paul came together beside a considerable waterfall of the creek. Seated on a great beech tree, partially uprooted by the undermining of the stream and now lying across it, the two ate their lunch. No reward for their searching had yet come to them. Through the screen of leaves and low bushes they could see in the distance a farmhouse. It meant that the road bounding the Ship woods on the north was very near.

"Humph! Didn't think we _would_ find anything right off," observed Paul, philosophically. "But it wouldn't surprise me if we'd have some luck this afternoon." And a minute later, as if fortifying himself against disappointment,--a really wise thing for anyone to do where the element of chance is a factor--"Then again," said he, "it wouldn't _surprise_ me if we _didn't_."

But although Paul had thus plainly stated that he was not to be surprised at any event, the fact remains that he gave a most joyful yell a couple of hours later, in answer to Phil's loud signal,--"Guess we've found something!"

"Not the three stones, but something pretty good, though!" Way called again, easily, as Jones bounded forward. "It's slippery elm! Twenty trees if there's one!"

"Good enough!" Paul cried enthusiastically. "Wish it had been the other thing but anyhow we wanted slippery elm, too! We haven't failed entirely, have we, Phil?"

Delighted as could be, Jones frisked about like a colt while with his axe Way trimmed from a tree before him a long strip of bark. Then again and again he pulled off shreds of the inner fiber and tasted them.

"Let me see!" Paul demanded. He sank his teeth into the interior surface of a piece of the bark. It was soft and moist and had a peculiarly sweetish taste. In one's mouth it seemed to be melting away and in a smooth, oily manner like b.u.t.ter.

"Gee! It's slippery, all right!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Paul, seriously, his lips screwed up like the mouth of a jug, his nose all wrinkled.

"No doubt at all about it being slippery elm," replied Phil confidently.

"Only trouble is, it's not the best season for gathering it. Ought to be taken in spring when the sap is flowing. The inside of the bark is just the slipperiest thing then you ever saw."

"Twenty-six cents a pound. I remember the quotation we saw in the paper as if it were only yesterday," observed Jones delightedly. "S'pose there must be just hundreds of pounds in the trees right around here, Phil.

Won't weigh so much when it's dry though!" he added, his spirits falling slightly.

"Only the inner bark is good, but even at that," Phil returned with satisfaction, "even at that, we could gather a perfect stack of it in almost no time. Won't Billy and Dave be glad?"

Carefully noting all surroundings,--the distance from the creek, the bare k.n.o.b or point on the hill yonder and various other landmarks,--that they might easily find the place again, the two boys in due time continued on. With them they carried extensive samples of their discovery and both watched eagerly for more trees of the same kind while pushing forward. But they did not forget they had other things for which to search. They cautioned each other they must be as painstaking as to this as they had been before.

How Worth and MacLester had been faring meanwhile may be told more briefly, though they were even more fortunate. That part of the woods penetrated by them lay quite dry and high. There was less underbrush than on the lower levels. The saws and axes of the logging crews had scarcely touched this portion of the forest. All was in quite the same wild state as it had been a hundred years before.

Dave and Billy came upon a shack of brush piled over some supporting poles late in the afternoon. Some hunter had erected the shelter the preceding winter, perhaps. In any event, with its bed of leaves and abundant shade, it offered a good place to have lunch and to rest.

Leaving their tools here, then, the boys descended into a valley beyond to find water. There was a small brook there but its bed was quite dry.

"Good thing we have that bottle of cold coffee," observed Billy. "It'll do for now. We'll get water sometime, or--"

His sentence was never finished. Suddenly his eyes had fallen upon a low, broad-leafed plant. He gazed steadfastly for a few seconds. Then Dave saw what it was that had so unexpectedly arrested Worth's attention and--

"Ginseng!" he exclaimed. "Sure it's ginseng! I've seen the cultivated kind!"

"I just happened to catch sight of it! Wasn't watching out for anything just then at all!" said Billy excitedly.

"And here's some more!" cried MacLester in similar tones.

"Here, too,--a lot more! Six dollars a pound for it! Hurrah for us!" And Billy ran for a spade. He wanted to make sure the plants had the forked roots usually characteristic of ginseng.

"Now, Bill Worth, don't you go to counting any chickens before they're hatched!" answered Dave. "There'll be some drawback, somewhere."

It was quite like young Mr. MacLester to make just such a prediction.

Yes, David MacLester, some drawbacks to be sure, yet without this bed of ginseng never would the joys experienced in "_The Auto Boys' Race_" have been your happy lot.

THE END.